Quite Resolutely
by Acciodoublestuffed
Summary: Two tired order members find comfort during a short reprieve in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place during Christmas Break, minor language. RL/NT


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: RL/NT, don't like it, don't read it. Short and total fluff, OotP-era Christmas

Quite Resolutely, or  
An Order of the Phoenix Christmas Drabble

It was a few days after Christmas. Sirius was still a bit high on his horse having the children around and all. Arthur was doing better, and even Harry wasn't looking quite so blue. The holidays, however, had been exhausting. Extra shifts, with the Weasley clan out of commission for the time being. With Molly having to take care of the kids, it would have been a lot to ask her to take on double shifts too, and of course Bill wasn't any more helpful, gone part of the time to France, for reasons Tonks knew, but wasn't apt to share. He blamed it on visiting Arthur, and that had worked—yeah worked the rest of the order right into a bloody coma, Tonks thought. Though really, she didn't blame him. It was just the times they were going through, but she was still exhausted.

She needed a nap and knew right where to go, the quietest room in the house, the drawing room. Something about being surrounded by the singed-off faces of the Black family exiles and dissidents seemed to be off-putting to the majority of the young house guests and Sirius himself—unless of course he'd gotten himself pissed enough to come and have conversations with the dead, which needless to say happened all too often.

That however, would be for another time. Sirius was happy, well, happy enough, and for Tonks that was grand. She quietly crept in, managing to only stumble when she attempted to shut the door with her foot. She caught herself before falling, "Bugger it."

"Watch the threshold."

She stopped what she'd been doing—hopping up and down, clasping her jammed, polka-dot, socked foot, to look at him. He's sitting on the floor, an open book beside him, a glass two fingers full of some amber-ish liquor, probably Ogdens. She'd picked some up a few days earlier and Sirius hadn't been going through it quite so fast this time around. "Wotcher," she said, clearing her throat, "I didn't think anyone was in here."

"It's quite alright," he didn't stand to greet her, which was unusual for Remus, and matched with his pale pallor and the fact that he hadn't made it to the sofa, that reminded Tonks that the full moon has just come and gone. He was tired and was probably looking for a spot of solitude. "I should have announced myself earlier, warned you about the tricky spot in the carpet there," he said it with compassion, but the sparkle in his eyes say he's teasing her, just a bit.

"It's alright, after half a year, you'd think I'd be used to it by now." She let go of her foot, flexing it just a bit.

"Quite like you've gotten used to that umbrella stand downstairs?"

Yes, he was definitely teasing her. "Bugger off."

"Never saw the family resemblance, but with that mouth…"

She raised an eyebrow and a middle finger, and they both laughed it off. "Well, I don't want to bother you, I'll just be heading on."

"Stay, you wouldn't be bothering me in the least."

She smiled, a bit warily perhaps and managed to not trip on her way across the room. At first she fancied the couch, but somehow, seeing him so well set, the musty carpeting looked all the more appealing. She sat down cross-legged, across from him, but then laid back so she could observe the ceiling. She was just below her mother's singed face. She raises a hand toward it, but can't reach it from the floor. A strange thought flitted through her mind and when she speaks she doesn't realize it until she heard the words floating back to her through her own ears, "Pity, that. Mum's face."

He didn't say anything, and she looked sideways to him, seeing him looking back at her, not her hand, but her face—her ever-changing face. "Sorry, didn't mean to… that spilled out, really."

"Quite alright."

"What I meant was, it's just that she's so pretty. Shame they burned something that pretty."

He was quiet, for a while, but then replied not so cryptically, his double meaning clear, "the Blacks had a tendency toward ruining what's good."

She wanted to smile at his candor and kindness, but the actions don't reach her mouth. They were quiet after that, but she could feel his eyes on her—being what she is, you get rather used to the feeling, or at least to recognizing the feeling, of someone staring at you—and with the turn of the conversation, she knew exactly what he was thinking.

She hated him for it, the thought she knew preoccupied him, but more than that, she hated herself for her anger toward him. It was natural really, what he was thinking. You shouldn't hate what's natural, because it just _is_ and hating a thing that just _is_ won't get you very far, except crazy as blasted Aunty Walburga. She has told herself this before, but somehow with him, it came with a bit more bitterness. Again, the words tumbled from her mouth. "You can ask, you know," she brusquely looked at him, eyes hard as her words. She tried to appear brave and unhinged. "Everyone wants to know, different phrasing, of course, but it's all the same really. I'm not offended." He doesn't say a thing, and the confusion in his look makes her press on, "go ahead ask me. I know what you're thinking—what's it like having a beautiful mother?"

When the words were out, she always felt better. No more hippogriffs in the room. It was all out in the open, but this time, she didn't feel better in the least. "See, the words don't mean nothing," she said, her voice hardly cracking.

And _dammit_, he was still just _looking_ at her, "That's not at all what I was thinking."

She rolled her eyes, "'Course not. They all say it differently, you know, 'what interesting choices; you're so smart, that's great; not everyone can have that classic look.' Really what they mean is what's it like being ugly when you have a gorgeous mum."

"Tonks, you are _not_ ugly."

"Ta, but it's different. You know mum. She's all noble-glamour, and well, the boys go crazy for her, all my friends. You should just ask Charlie Weasley, hell go red as his hair, that one."

He didn't say anything at first, and Tonks returned to staring at the ceiling, feeling more unsettled than before.

"What do you tell them?"

"I tell 'em it is what it is. She's a bombshell and doesn't like my clothes and my hair, and then, I usually make a pig snout and get all smart, saying she can't do that, now can she?" She turned to look at him, but stared at his jumper instead, "I'm not jealous. It's just the way things are, you know."

He was quiet, and her eyes fogged just a bit. Finally, she heard the spine of his book creak shut. "Tonks."

She made the effort to meet his eyes.

"I don't think your mother is prettier than you."

She scoffed, "You don't need to spare my feelings, Remus."

"No really, her features are so… so sharp, pointed really, and dark. She is beautiful, there's no denying, but you, with Ted in there, it's softer. Your looks are rounder, the hair not so dark. It's gentler. You soften out her edges." He looked down at his hands, which were crossed, in his lap, "You really are very beautiful, Tonks."

"Really?" she asked, not above a whisper, "you think that?"

"Yes, I do, quite resolutely, in fact."

Her eyes widened at his words, and she waited, watching him. Then, it appeared that he was getting the nerve to stand, painful as it would be for his sore limbs.

"Bloody, blundering hell. _Kreacher, you little bastard! _You come back with that, this second, or on Merlin's beard, I fucking swear you'll regret it."

Sirius' words broke all the magic, muggle or otherwise. Remus closed his eyes, sighing heavily, from where he was poised to stand, a hand against the floor, the other against the wall. He had been meaning to get up, Tonks thought again to herself. He shook his head and ran a hand through his graying hair.

"Jolly Sirius couldn't last forever," she said, going for passé, but ending somewhere around unsure.

"No, I suppose that would be asking for a bit too much." He looked at her as he got up, "If you'll excuse me." He left in a huff, clearly unhappy about the situation.

Now alone, Tonks wondered if it was aching muscles or Sirius's temperament that had him all worked up, or, possibly, just maybe, something else entirely. She stood up, stretching her arms out over her head, and went to collect the book Remus had left on the floor. It wasn't anything life changing, only a short treatise on conjuring longer-lasting perishables. Tonks wondered what she had been expecting. She rummaged around the desk drawers and finally found an only marginally ratty ribbon; she marked his spot and set the book on the coffee table, and then promptly laid down to take a Christmas nap.


End file.
